


Hot Mess (or three years, seven months and eighteen days. Give or take)

by lola381pce



Series: Imagine Clint Coulson Prompts [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A Bottle of Ketchup, Aww coffee no!, Clint Barton's Perfect Ass, Clint has his shit together, Coulson is a hot mess, First Kiss, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: imagineclintcoulson, Wile E Coyote - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: For an anonymous Imagine Clint Coulson prompt:They meet and fall on love but, in AU where Phil is the hot mess and Clint has his shit together.





	Hot Mess (or three years, seven months and eighteen days. Give or take)

**Author's Note:**

> We are always accepting new prompts at our tumblr account, so feel free to drop by with a little headcanon or ask.

“That. Was. Horrible.” Hill told him looking as though the stuffing had been knocked out of her.

Coulson had already closed his eyes and was slowly banging his forehead against the doorframe.

“I know,” he groaned, punctuating his response with another thump of his head.

“I couldn’t look away. It was like a cakewalk mission turning to clusterfuck in front of my eyes… and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“I know,” he said again in full agreement. He was pretty damned disturbed himself. Thump!

“Your cool is legend at SHIELD, Coulson. You used to be my hero. I even modelled my deadpan on your deadpan. But now… seeing that…”

“Not helping,” he told her. Thump!

“I mean, what just happened?” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken, sounding… well… as though the stuffing had been knocked out of her. “You’re not like that with him over the comms; you sound like the calm, confident handler you’ve always been. But there… just now, you acted like a teenager getting his panties into a bunch over his first crush.”

“ _Really_ not helping.” Thump! Thump! Thump!

And of course it dawned on her, taking much longer than it should have but she could put that down to being traumatised by the painful events which had unfolded before her.

“How long _have_ you had a thing for Barton?”

Coulson paused in his self-punishment and thought about pretending not to know what she was talking about or just not answering at all in the hope that she’d forget all about it but Hill had just seen the shockingly embarrassing evidence for herself. He sighed heavily.

“Three years, seven months and eighteen days. Give or take.”

“Give or take? You probably know it to the hour and minute.”

Coulson looked at his watch and did a quick calculation. “Nineteen hours and thirty seven minutes.”

“So, basically since day one?”

“Basically.”

“We’re going for a drink after work.”

“Won’t help. I’ve tried drowning my sorrows over that particular chestnut before.”

“It’s not for you. I have to do something to try and erase that awful scene from my memory.”

The “awful scene” in question unfolded as follows…

 

***

 

“Hey, Coulson. Commander Hill. How’s it going?”

Cool and confident Senior Agent Coulson fumbled the confidential document folders he was holding, dropping them to the floor, papers scattering everywhere. The Deputy Director of SHIELD, arched her eyebrow at Coulson’s sudden ineptitude and awkwardness. He was the most put together person she knew and this was totally out of character for him. So what the hell?

“Hey. Hi uh… ”

“Barton,” the specialist reminded him with an amused look, crouching down with him to help pick up the papers. He knew fine Coulson hadn’t forgotten his name. He didn’t forget anything. He just seemed to go a bit tongue-tied when he saw Clint outwith ops for some reason. Shame really. He was crazy hot and Clint wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. A lot better. Still, he couldn’t help tease him by adding, “Your specialist archer comms buddy. Remember?”

Coulson gave him a bashful grin and blushed; an honest-to-god teenage crush kind of blush and nodded like one of those dogs you get on the dashboard of cars. As if he could forget the flirting, the sass, the long in-depth conversations they shared over the comms whenever Coulson ran ops as Barton’s handler during the last three years, seven months and… whatever!

“Barton. Yeah. Of course. I watch over you when you’re training,” he blurted out. “I mean... when you don’t know I’m there. To see your form.”

Barton gave him another amused look while Coulson laughed in a kind of panic. The fuck?

“Sure, okay. Hope you like what you see,” he said handing Coulson the last of the wayward papers before standing upright in a single fluid motion that Coulson could only dream about; he just wasn’t that flexible. The senior agent blushed (again) and stood too, wincing as his right knee cracked like a rifle shot. Well that was smooth and sexy. He ducked his head and gave the archer a goofy smile.

Either not noticing or being too polite to mention it, Barton ignored the terrifying noise and gave him a wink and a wide grin before continuing down the corridor.

“You do… look good,” he called to Barton’s retreating back. What the actual FUCK! And then the enormity of the horrors that had just transpired hit him. He looked like he was going to throw up; or stroke out. Which was when he heard Hill’s voice. Shit! He’d forgotten she was even there.

“That. Was. Horrible.”

***

It wasn’t the first time. It was just the first time Hill had witnessed Coulson become a hot mess in the presence of Specialist Clinton Francis Barton. There had been many such incidents over the last three years, seven months and eighteen days. Give or take. Usually there was no-one around to see it and so they went unnoticed (security tapes were surprisingly easy to manipulate). But occasionally fate was unkind to the senior agent.

SHIELD Director Nick Fury had the privilege of the first disastrous encounter when he watched in horrified fascination while Coulson face planted himself into a meeting room wall instead of walking through the open door. That was the day Barton appeared wearing his new tactical uniform.

Admittedly it highlighted his stunning shoulders and arms and showed off every curve of muscle. Not that had been the intention when Coulson had advised the specialist tailors of some specific adjustments that he felt were required.

Really, it hadn’t. It was just a very happy coincidence.

In truth, he’d listened to Clint complain about the lack of flexibility in the material and the way it pinched when he was drawing the bowstring out in the field, and had made a few sketches passing these, along with the notes he’d jotted down, to the design team. What they came up with was exemplary both for Barton’s freedom of movement and Coulson’s viewing pleasure. Which… kinda made him seem like a total creeper.

“You okay there, sir?” Barton asked, sounding concerned as he went to help the senior agent.

Coulson peeled himself off the wall rather like Wile E. Coyote.

“All good, Barton. Thank you. How’s the new uniform?” he asked, blinking back the tears of pain from his face making pretty hard contact with the surface. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in front of Clint.

Barton did a few shoulder rolls along with some back and chest stretches.

“Yeah, loads better,” he grinned while Coulson did his best not to hyperventilate into unconsciousness at all the flexing and rolling.

“Awesome! I had a little design input,” he told Clint, trying to sound nonchalant, actually sounding like an overexcited fanboy. He babbled non-stop for a couple of minutes about tensile strength of material, fluidity of movement and how he thought about Clint’s body and his range of motion throughout the day. It was when he finally stopped to take a breath that he considered how that might sound.

It sounded stalkery and downright fucking weird.

He snapped his mouth shut as a heated blush spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears which had begun to glow.

“Well, great job, sir. Fits in all the right places. Director. Boss,” Barton said with his customary wink and wide grin as he took his leave of them. His left hand, ever moving (unless he was in his nest), twirled the shaft of an arrow between his fingers. Coulson had to give him points for not stabbing him with it.

“That’s probably the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” Fury told him, looking genuinely upset for his one good eye who, in the space of sixty seconds, had dissolved into an uncharacteristically clumsy, awkward mess of a man.

“Huh!” Coulson replied, looking suitably crestfallen wincing as he finally touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead where a large and painful knot was beginning to form.

***

Then there was the tomato ketchup incident in the canteen that Sitwell had been the innocent party to, much to his chagrin. It was one of several the other agent had seen but, for him anyway, it was definitely the worst. He still had nightmares.

He and Coulson had been minding their own business at the condiments table as they doctored their food to make it almost edible when there was an almighty crash and a shattering of crockery in front of them. Unperturbed by the noise, they were experienced agents after all, neither man flinched but looked up out of curiosity to see what had occurred.

Unfortunately Coulson still had an almost full catering-size bottle of ketchup in both hands from liberally coating his fries and burger and the sight of Barton bent over from the waist with his tight, pert ass in full view in that damned snug uniform as he helped the unfortunate junior agent who’d dropped their tray, made him squeeze the bottle hard enough to shoot an almighty squirt of ketchup about three feet into the air.

The symbolism wasn’t lost on Coulson or Sitwell.

As the mathematician, astronomer, and physicist (and incidentally the discoverer of gravity) Sir Isaac Newton pointed out, what goes up must come down, and sadly, in what seemed like slow motion, it was on top of Sitwell’s head and the shoulders of his suit.

For moment there was a stunned and horrified silence in the canteen by those who witnessed the incident. Then, as the chatter slowly started up again, Sitwell lifted his tray with as much dignity as he could muster and carried it to an empty table in the corner before disappearing to clean himself up.

Blissfully unaware of what had occurred behind him, Barton straightened from his position and turned to see a wide-eyed Coulson staring at him with an expression that was a cross between appalled and utterly dismayed. The offending ketchup bottle was still firmly grasped in his hands. Clint grinned and raised his eyebrows in question pulling the startled agent from his trance.

Hurriedly dropping his gaze from Clint, he gently placed the bottle on the bench, smiled an apology to the member of kitchen staff who’d appeared to clean up the stray blobs of ketchup, and calmly made his way to the table where Sitwell had left his tray. There he began to eat his food mechanically, tasting none of it, feeling nauseous. Fuck Barton and fuck his perfect ass!

Oh for…! Why? _Why_ did he just put that image in his head? He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he began harden thinking lustful thoughts about Clint’s ass.

When Sitwell returned, he was wearing black SHIELD issue tac pants and a black t-shirt with the SHIELD eagle emblazoned on the sleeve. The tee showed off his thick arms and broad chest to good effect and Coulson smirked to himself as he noted there were more than a few of the remaining diners who followed his path to their table with good old-fashioned lust in their eyes. Sitwell however was oblivious. And for some reason that just made it funnier.

Sitwell was also pissed.

He observed the two empty trays in front of Coulson with disbelief as he neared the table.

“The fuck, Phil?” he demanded, dropping into the seat opposite his friend - although at the moment _friend_ was probably stretching it a bit.

“Barton ate it,” he replied a touch defensively. Actually he sounded like a petulant child. Sitwell raised an eyebrow. Admittedly, Coulson did look a bit well… fucked up. It made sense Barton had to be involved somehow.

Coulson took a breath and continued more calmly.

“He came over to find out what had happened and… I blurted it out some embarrassingly incoherent babble about ketchup and your head which resulted in him laughing his head off and… eating your burger. And fries.”

Sitwell’s stomach chose that moment to give an almighty growl that made the occupants of another table cease their conversation and look at him.

Again he said with considerable feeling, “The _fuck_ , Phil?”

“Relax, Jas. It would have been cold by now anyway. Besides there’s another one on it’s way. Double patties freshly made with bacon, cheese, onions, and guacamole.”

“Like my Five Guys order!” he said excitedly.

“Shhh,” Coulson hissed, his eyes darting around the nearby tables in case someone heard. “Don’t tell everyone. They’re doing it as a favour for me.”

Although he looked at lot happier than he did a few minutes ago, Sitwell hissed back, “Don’t think this lets you off the hook, asshole. You owe me for my dry cleaning bill. And _do_ something about Barton for fuck sake! I seriously can’t take much more of this pining shit!”

***

Three years, seven months and nineteen days (and twelve hours, nine minutes)…

Coulson poured himself a much needed coffee in the break room near his office. He’d just come from a doozy of a meeting and was fighting the urge to shoot someone. Anyone. His mind was completely preoccupied and he didn’t sense someone approaching him until he heard a familiar voice by his ear.

“Hey, Coulson.”

Barton!

Coulson managed to control the high-pitched scream escaping from his mouth by turning it into a grunt of pain as the coffee pot twitched in his hand spilling hot liquid over the fingers wrapped round his mug.

“Aww coffee no!” Clint protested, tackling the senior agent to the sink, almost bowling him over trying to render first aid. He grabbed Coulson’s wrist holding his hand under the faucet while he turned on the cold water.

“Shit! Sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”

That almost made Coulson bristle. No matter what some people thought, he wasn’t just some paper pusher sitting behind his desk. He was a field agent first and foremost with years of successful missions and undercover work under his belt and not many people could get the drop on him. However, in this instance he let it slide. After all, he had Clint Barton’s body pressed against him as he held his hand in place under the water.

“How does that feel?” Clint asked carefully, suddenly becoming very much aware of the same thing.

Coulson couldn’t help notice the low pitch of his voice. It sent a shiver down his spine that he couldn’t control.

“It feels… good. Thanks,” he replied, his own voice suddenly sounding gravelly to his ears.

Clint let go of Coulson’s wrist and gently turned him around. He said nothing and for a moment, did nothing other than look into Coulson’s eyes trying to read what the other man was thinking. But it was Coulson. He could no more read him than read a message written in water. He would just have to take a chance. He’d been attracted to Coulson pretty much since the day he started, desperately looking forward to every op where he was assigned Coulson as his handler, but this was the closest he’d ever been to him without it being mission related and it was too much to ignore.

His gaze dropped to Coulson’s mouth giving it a hungry look before he finally pressed his lips to Coulson’s, placing his hands on the other man’s hips - not grabbing or holding, just resting them there. After a couple of moments he realised the kiss wasn’t being returned. In fact, Coulson wasn’t reacting at all. Not even to touch him. He seemed to be frozen, arms held ramrod straight by his sides.

Clint pulled away and took a couple of steps back looking distraught. He should have asked first. Why didn’t he ask first? Fuck! _Fuck_! How could he have gotten it so wrong?

“I’m sorry, sir. That was totally inappropriate. I shouldn’t have… It’s just… I thought…”

He turned and began to walk quickly away when Coulson called out to him. Out of habit he stopped at the sound of the senior agent’s voice but he didn’t look back, not until he felt a gentle pressure on his arm then he reluctantly turned to face Coulson, his head ducked seemingly so… ashamed.

Coulson didn’t speak, preferring to wait as he sometimes did until he knew he had the other person’s attention. And when Clint finally did tilt his head to look up, Coulson had that little half-smile curling up the corner of his mouth; the one that made Clint’s stomach do back flips whenever he saw it. Kinda like now.

“Inappropriate maybe,” ~~Coulson~~ Phil said softly, “but… you weren’t wrong, Clint.”

He curled his hand tighter around Clint’s forearm feeling the solid muscle tense beneath his touch.

“May I?” And _there_ was Clint’s Coulson; cool and confident, a calming voice in his ear. He relaxed immediately, the tension being replaced with anticipation.

At Clint’s nod, he stepped into the archer’s space, slowly leaning forward to brush his lips against Clint’s. With a hum of pleasure, Clint opened his mouth deepening the kiss, his tongue finding Phil’s sending an exquisite jolt of pleasure through both of them when they touched.

Phil cupped the back of Clint’s head, threading his fingers through his hair while his other hand gently squeezed Clint’s hip, his thumb slowly stroking back and forward over the jut of his hipbone. The combination was a heady one causing him to moan into Phil’s mouth as they kissed, taking their time languidly exploring each other’s mouths. His own hands were pushed up under Phil’s jacket to press against the surprisingly solid muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin below his shirt. It all felt so good. So right.

Eventually Phil pulled back so that they could breathe (and before things got too out of hand - it was a break room; anyone could walk in). He leaned his forehead against Clint’s and sighed happily.

“For years I… I hadn’t dared hope you’d ever feel the same way. You just… you caught me by surprise when you kissed me.”

“Years, huh?” Clint smirked, sounding more like himself now that he knew it wasn’t as one-sided as he had feared. “Explains a lot.”

Phil felt his face heat at the thought of all the times he’d become a hot mess around Clint while he’d been cool and laid back. “Fuck you, Specialist Barton. And your perfect ass.”

“That a promise, sir? Cuz I’d be cool with that. Or y’know, vice versa.”


End file.
